


and the devil makes three

by glitteration



Category: True Blood
Genre: F/M, Gen, Human AU, criminals au, drug runners are the new black, implied every single pairing under the sun, pam will fuck your shit up, semi-graphic depictions of violence, this really isn't shippy tbqh, violence as foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 12:30:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteration/pseuds/glitteration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An all human crime au where Eric and Pam are still badass motherfuckers (minus the fangs), Bill still has a few years left until the therapy does him any good, Sookie is still a waitress and if their name is mentioned right there, assume I implied sex between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and the devil makes three

**Author's Note:**

> This is why we don't let me watch Burn Notice and Natural Born Killers one after another; credit for the warped 'who are you really fucking here' line goes to LA Confidential.

"He never gets any better at this game." Eric's tone is vaguely regretful, disappointed. "You'd think he would have mastered deep cover enough to at least make it a _little_ challenging. It's like he's not even trying."

Pam arches one perfect brow, shaking her head. Even in the heat of Ghana, she remains perfectly pressed, clothes immaculate and not a hair out of place. "You'd rather an agent who actually manages to pull his head out of his ass long enough to fuck with our our profits?"

Sighing, Eric takes another long draw off his water bottle. "Of course not. But where's the sport in one who appears to feel he's auditioning for the role of bumbling, ineffectual nemesis?"

The returning sigh is affectionate, if long suffering. "If you'd prefer, I can deal with business while you play Cops and Robbers with Bill fucking Compton, Eric."

He snorts. "Don't be ridiculous. I just feel for an ex-criminal, he's pathetic at actually catching any of us." He traces one finger over the shipment idly, white powder neatly packed and ready to be moved up through Europe. "Gives us all a bad name."  


\--- 

  


Bill has been chasing them nearly as long as Pam and Eric have been in business together. He's a reformed runner turned traitor, taking his overdeveloped sense of guilt and peddling it to the very people who will never see him as anything but a criminal-- albeit a somewhat helpful one. The names he turned over proved, if not _invaluable_ to the idiots behind the latest attempts at taking down the trade, immensely helpful. It also bumped Eric and Pam from the DEA's problem to the FBI's, which is something of a point of pride.

'It would take a cartel', they said, 'to wrest drug busts from the DEA's grasping hands to the FBI's.' And they've been deemed worth it. Flattering, to say the least.

And as long as William Compton is the agent in charge of apprehension, it's _useful_.  


\--- 

  


When they first met, Pam spoke with a British accent, crisp and precise. When they met again, it was Southern; all slow roll of consonants, slur of vowels, delicate and somehow just as natural as the clipped tones of three years before. He doesn't know which is real, if either; for that matter, he doesn't care.

The new accent just hides the steel inside better. People underestimate her, take the PTA mother clothes and genteel air to mean weakness. Their trial run together, she ruptured a man's testicle with one of those ridiculous heels. He's refused to work with anyone else, since.  


\--- 

  


Her nails-- soft peach, well-manicured and incongruous against the Desert Eagle she's cleaning-- tap a frustrated rhythm.

"Say it." Eric doesn't look up from the computer, but he knows Pam well enough he doesn't _need_ to.

"I wouldn't presume to question your judgment--"

He laughs, genuinely amused. "Bullshit, of course you would. It's one of your many wonderful traits, Pam."

" _But_ ," she continues, undeterred by the flattery, laying the rifle down to peer at the screen over his shoulder. She takes in the images on-screen-- the pale blonde hair, the tanned skin, the sweet expression, the simple cotton shirt with 'Merlotte's' written in cracking applique over one perky breast-- with a somewhat disgusted expression of her own, "She's fucking Bill."

Eric's grin turns wolfish. "I know."

"Then you _also_ know his ridiculous notions of chivalry could make this messier than your usual games." Her hand rests on his shoulder, gentle but warning. "I want to make sure we're clear on her role."

He shrugs. "She's Bill's. I'll make her mine."

Pam's grip gets tighter, those perfectly shaped nails digging in. "Is this about fucking with him, or fucking her?"

Reaching up to pat her hand, Eric refuses to let any of the tension he feels seep into his body. She'll sense it, regardless, but no need to make it easier. "Jealous, Pam?"

Snorting indelicately, Pam squeezes once more, then lets go. "Don't be ridiculous. I just want to make sure we understand things."

She wouldn't be jealous, of course. Her tastes run more to women these days, but Eric still knows what she looks like riding him, head tossed back, breasts filling his hands, sweaty and disheveled for once. She knows how to make him plead, where to bite and how hard to press. They've never denied the mutual attraction, but neither is it a linchpin on which they hinge.

Her concern with Sookie has little to do with sex, and everything to do with complications. If it was just that, she might take an interest, herself. She's right, of course; Bill's antiquated posturing and pompous righteousness makes this a higher risk than their normal routine of cat and mouse, bait and switch. But Eric has never been able to resist fucking with Bill, and Sookie is... interesting.  


\--- 

  


They stand out in the bar; both tall and blonde, lithe and obviously not hard up for cash. Pam chose it for exactly that reason. Tit for tat. She distracts Bill for a few weeks so he can advance things with Sookie, delaying her meet-up with Sophie, he takes her out first.

The restaurant is slightly dirty and most definitely plain. The food is adequate, the beer warm and verging on decent. But the the slap of flesh on flesh, the meaty thud that somehow echoes when the blade in Pam's hand flashes again and again makes up for any lack in the menu or decor, and she's generous enough to let him toss the final match; and when she fucks him up against the crumbling stucco of the building across the street, she kicks off her shoes first.


End file.
